


Kinktober ficlets

by sevenfists



Series: Sid/Geno Tumblr ficlets [11]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-07 11:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16407821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists
Summary: Ficlets originally posted to zhenyabest for Kinktober. See individual chapters for info about content. These are mostly Sid/Geno and I've noted the Sid/Geno/Anna chapters.





	1. Day 1: face-sitting, rimming [386 words]

“Up,” Zhenya said, tugging at Sid’s hips, “up, Sid, come here—”

Sid turned to smirk at him over one shoulder. “Tell me what you’re gonna do.” He slid his knees wider for balance and reached back to spread his cheeks open, showing Zhenya the tight pink curl of his asshole, waxed bare. Zhenya had thought about this all summer, and all through the long flight back from Moscow, and waiting in line at customs, and now Sid was teasing him instead of giving him what he wanted.

“Sid,” Zhenya said. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of Sid’s hips, that perfect give of fat and muscle, his favorite place to hold Sid.

“Tell me,” Sid insisted. He shuffled backward a bare millimeter, still too far away for Zhenya to reach.

“Eat you out,” Zhenya said, too turned on for any subtlety. “Lick you, make you come, sit on my face—”

“Yeah,” Sid said. He finally shifted back far enough, his calves beneath Zhenya’s shoulders, and Zhenya got his hands on Sid’s cheeks and squeezed him once and spread him open and didn’t waste any more time. He buried his face in Sid’s thick round ass and licked his hole with the wet flat of his tongue. His eyes slid shut.

Sid groaned and settled onto Zhenya’s face. He loved to tease at the start, but once they got going he was shameless about it; he liked it too much to do anything but ride Zhenya’s mouth until he came. Zhenya loved the soft weight of Sid’s balls on his chin and the sweet soapy-clean smell of Sid’s body and the dark warm weight of him that shut out all other sensations, and most of all the noises Sid made as he worked himself against Zhenya’s tongue.

“That’s good,” Sid breathed. The mattress sank at either side of Zhenya’s hips as Sid braced his hands on the bed. “God, G, you’re so good at this.”

Zhenya slid one hand down his body to palm his hard dick. He opened his mouth wider and stroked at Sid with the pointed tip of his tongue. Above him, Sid shuddered and spread his knees a little further, sinking down fully onto Zhenya’s mouth.

“That’s good,” Sid said again, and Zhenya shivered happily and got to work.


	2. Day 3: temperature play, vampires [639 words]

Geno was a baby about it every time. Sid felt bad about it, but there wasn’t much he could do. He was undead; poor circulation was the name of the game. They had discovered kind of by accident that he would warm up to a human temperature if he soaked in hot water for a while, so then Geno wanted to fuck in the tub all the time, which was great in theory but in practice had flooded the bathroom more than once.

“You’re literally from Siberia,” Sid told him. “And you’re complaining because my hands are cold?”

Geno sniffed at him. “It’s like ice cube. Not sexy. Put sweater.”

“I can’t believe this,” Sid muttered, but he pulled on the sweater anyway, because Geno was already lubed up and spread out, and why waste a good prep job?

Somehow he always ended up doing whatever Geno wanted. If Geno wanted him to wear a full snowsuit during sex, Sid would complain a lot but he’d do it. Geno was hard to resist, with the way he smelled like sweet blood at all times, somehow exponentially more tempting than any of the other humans Sid interacted with on a regular basis, and the way he liked to tilt his head to one side and give Sid a coy look, showing Sid exactly where he wanted to be bitten.

Sid indulged him most of the time. But sometimes he didn’t want to put on a sweater or stand in the shower for fifteen minutes. Sometimes he wanted Geno’s warm soft bare skin against the full length of his body, and he wanted to drink from the tender soft inside of Geno’s upper arm, the blue veins there so close to the surface, and feel Geno shake beneath him as he moaned. He wanted to press his cold fingers into Geno’s ass and watch him squirm away from the touch, annoyed and turned on. He would breathe these thoughts into Geno’s ear with only the barest hint of thrall, and Geno would give him a look that said he knew exactly what Sid was doing and was letting him get away with it because he was a generous and giving person.

“Ice cube,” Geno said.

“You’ve gotta stop saying that,” Sid said. He slid one hand up the inside of Geno’s thigh to make him twitch, his fingertips brushing over the small wounds from his mouth, already healing over. “I’m not even that cold.”

“Very cold,” Geno said, and then grinned. “I warm you up.”

He knew he was cute. Sid bent to kiss his hip and the base of his cock. Geno loved being fed from and had been hard since Sid took the first sip. His erection didn’t flag as Sid trailed his lips along the shaft, although he reached down to grip Sid’s shoulders, his fingers digging in.

Sid opened his mouth to suck on the head of Geno’s cock, thrilled when Geno gasped and flinched. “Cold!” Geno said, and moved one of his hands to Sid’s hair, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull Sid closer or push him away.

Sid trailed his fingers down Geno’s perineum to tease at his hole. “You gonna let me?” he asked, already thinking about sinking into the unbelievably hot clutch of Geno’s ass while Geno cursed and arched beneath him and got off on it, because he always got off on it, even with the way he whined.

“Maybe,” Geno said, which meant he wanted Sid to talk him into it.

Sid licked the wetness from the tip of Geno’s dick. Geno sighed and spread his thighs a little wider. “Give me the lube,” Sid said, and smiled against Geno’s hip as Geno fumbled around in the sheets. He could make his poor circulation work to his advantage.


	3. Day 7: body swap, masturbation [619 words]

Sid felt a little weird about it, but Geno had basically given him permission—Geno had basically _dared_ him: “You try out yet?” with his eyebrows lifted and his tongue in the corner of his mouth, a familiar expression made unfamiliar by Sid’s face, and Sid had felt his core temperature rise at least a couple of degrees as he realized what Geno was asking.

“It’s not polite to handle another guy’s stick,” he said.

“Oops,” Geno said, and grinned, like it was no big deal to admit that he had jerked off in Sid’s body.

Well, fine: fair was fair. Sid had a week of showering and pissing and undressing under his belt. He knew what Geno’s dick looked like soft, and how it felt inside his pants, and how it had looked that one morning when he woke up hard and took a cold shower instead of giving in to temptation. Geno had given in, apparently. What did he think about Sid’s body? Had he figured out how sensitive Sid’s nipples were? Had it just been mechanical for him, a routine cleaning of the pipes, or had he lingered and explored?

Sid turned over in bed again, frustrated and turned on. He really needed to sleep for at least an hour before the game, but Geno’s stupid dick was distracting him. But Geno didn’t mind. Geno maybe even _wanted_ him to.

He rolled out of bed and went into his walk-in closet, where he had a full-length mirror set up. He rubbed one hand down the crotch of Geno’s basketball shorts, stroking his half-chub, and lifted the hem of his T-shirt to look at Geno’s body, the cut of his hips, the soft flesh around his navel. Maybe it was narcissistic to get off to your own reflection, but it wasn’t really Sid’s body. He ran his fingers down Geno’s stomach and felt his cock twitch. God. This was really doing it for him.

He pushed down his shorts to look at Geno’s dick, huge, fat, and flushed. Geno was so fucking big, his hands were basically the size of dinner plates, but they looked like a perfectly ordinary size when Sid finally gave in and wrapped one around Geno’s leaking cock.

He didn’t mess around. He told himself it was because he needed to get off and get to sleep, but the truth was he was just so fucking turned on from looking at Geno’s body and his dick and touching it and thinking about what it would be like to suck him or get fucked by him, Geno groaning as he slid into Sid’s lube-wet hole.

“Fuck,” he muttered, moving his hand faster now, and then he stopped and went back into the bedroom to get his phone, cock bobbing ridiculously as he walked, his steps hobbled by the waistband of the shorts still stretched around his upper thighs. He had never once let Geno win a dare, and he wasn’t going to start now.

He took a picture in the mirror: clothes shoved out of the way, one hand pressing his hard-on against his belly. And another picture, a minute or two later, of his come-smeared dick as it went soft in his hand.

He sent both pictures to Geno, and then he cleaned up and got back in bed and slept the deep sleep of the righteous.

When he woke up, he had a couple of messages from Geno. **You dont do right** , the first one read, and Sid rolled his eyes and scrolled down to Geno’s second message: **I show you)))**

Sid’s stomach did a slow roll in his belly. Maybe he’d get to show Geno exactly how sensitive his nipples were.


	4. Day 8: fisting [672 words]

Geno had gone silent: his back a rigid arch, both palms pressed against the headboard, like he had to brace himself to withstand what Sid was doing to him. His chest heaved with each breath. Sid rubbed his free hand up the inside of Geno’s trembling thigh and said, “Hey, are you—”

“Go,” Geno said. “Keep,” his voice fading out into a shaky moan as Sid pressed his hand forward, the widest part, his knuckles, breaching the stretched rim of Geno’s hole.

“You’ve gotta relax,” Sid reminded him. He had already asked about fifteen times if Geno wanted to stop, until Geno cursed at him in Russian. Geno was determined, so: okay. They were doing it. Sid was achingly hard and trying to ignore it. Geno was spread out and flushed and sweating and somehow still half-hard, and he kept making these sweet choked moans that made Sid want to give up on the whole fisting thing and just hike one of Geno’s legs around his waist and slide right in. That would be so good.

But he had promised. “Relax,” he said again, and Geno took a shallow breath and let it out, and then again. His eyes closed. The tension left his body, or most of the tension, at least; enough that Sid could push his hand in a little further, and then they were past the worst of it; Geno breathed a few times, and didn’t clench up, and Sid’s hand slid in all the way to the wrist.

Geno cried out and pushed against the headboard and did tense up then, clamping down on Sid’s wrist. “Sid,” he groaned, and panted harshly, and then he slurred something in Russian that Sid didn’t catch. “Sid—”

“Hey,” Sid said. He ducked his head to kiss the inside of Geno’s knee, the only part he could reach without moving his hand inside Geno’s body. “Should we stop?”

“No,” Geno said, for the sixteenth time. He opened his eyes to look at Sid, and Sid was bowled right over by the trust and tenderness and exasperation in Geno’s gaze. Being in love with him was scary sometimes but mostly the best thing Sid had ever done. “It’s good, it’s,” and Geno took one hand off the headboard to fumble at his cock, still not quite soft, fat and pink against his belly. His cheeks flushed a deeper red as he touched himself.

Very carefully, very slowly, moving his fingers inside the tight cling of Geno’s ass, Sid curled his hand into a fist. He watched Geno’s face, just like he’d been watching the whole time, analyzing every flicker of Geno’s expression, to know when he needed to slow down or pause or start again. Geno’s face was slack now, his mouth hanging open: overcome, focused on what he was feeling. His fingertips teased at the head of his cock, and he was getting hard again, and Sid’s ears were kind of ringing from how turned on he was. They’d done a lot of prep work for this, a lot of playing around and fingering and toys, but it was just—way more than Sid had expected. In basically every way.

He gently stroked Geno’s rim, where it was stretched around his wrist. Geno moaned and turned his head to one side, his eyes squeezing shut. He was panting again, fast and shallow. He squeezed his cock once and then relaxed his hand, just palming himself. He tightened again around Sid’s fist.

“You’re gonna come,” Sid said, not a command but a realization. He rotated his fist, slow, slow, and for a moment he thought he was wrong, because Geno didn’t react. But then Geno made a noise Sid had never heard before and pushed the headboard into the wall with a loud thump. His back arched hard, and he gave Sid a wide-eyed startled look, braced there, taut and shaking.

“Please,” Geno said, a cracked breath of a word, and made a wet mess all over himself as he came.


	5. Day 10: hair-pulling, secret virgin [806 words]

Sid’s hair curled a little at his nape and his ears, dark and so soft. Zhenya liked to run his fingers through it while they kissed, something for his hands to do, to distract him from the soft sloppy heat of Sid’s mouth and the pressure of Sid’s thigh between his legs. In the darkness of the Lemieux rec room, lit only by the flickering light of the TV, Zhenya focused on the texture of Sid’s curls between his fingers so he wouldn’t cream his pants from the spine-tingling friction of Sid’s thigh wedged up against his dick.

So far it was only kissing, mostly because Zhenya pretended he didn’t understand Sid’s attempts to take things further. He was embarrassed; he didn’t want Sid to know how inexperienced he was. Sid slid his hands beneath Zhenya’s shirt and Zhenya decided he needed another soda. Sid put Zhenya’s hands on his ass and Zhenya became very interested in whatever was on TV. He would rather die than admit to Sid that kissing was all he’d ever done. He didn’t even know how to say it. Even after most of a season in Pittsburgh, his vocabulary was still limited to hockey terms and small talk about the weather.

Sid didn’t seem to mind. He seemed perfectly content to make out with Zhenya in the basement and touch him through his clothes and let Zhenya call all the shots. Zhenya was relieved at first that Sid didn’t push, and then became increasingly annoyed, because maybe he wanted Sid to push a little. Every time he went over to Sid’s, he told himself that tonight was the night, he was going to sack up and do it, and then he chickened out again.

“What’s your thing with my hair?” Sid asked him, a couple of weeks into their rec room routine. Zhenya was lying with Sid’s head on his chest, looping curls around his fingers.

“Soft,” Zhenya said. He lifted his head from the couch cushion and took a deliberately noisy whiff of Sid’s hair. “Smell nice.”

Sid laughed. “Oh yeah? Am I missing out on something here?” He shifted around and poked at Zhenya until they had switched positions and Zhenya was on top, straddling one of Sid’s broad thighs. “C’mere,” Sid said, smiling up at him, and Zhenya ducked down for a kiss.

The gentle slide of Sid’s tongue got him hot for it again right away. If he gave Sid even the slightest encouragement, Sid would probably go for it. Sid would tug down Zhenya’s sweatpants and look at his dick and touch it and make Zhenya come. And then it would be done, and Zhenya could use his orgasm to justify his inevitable clumsiness when he touched Sid.

He twitched when Sid slid both hands into his hair. He hadn’t expected that, but it felt nice. Sid’s fingers sliding over his scalp made his whole body tingle.

“Your hair’s really soft,” Sid said. His lips skimmed over Zhenya’s cheek. His hands went to the long hair at Zhenya’s nape and tugged, not hard, but Zhenya’s scalp prickled all over, a sweet ripple of sensation that poured down his spine in a warm delicious wave.

He heard himself moan, and froze, humiliated. His erection had gone from interested to urgent. What was Sid going to think? Hesitantly, he opened his eyes.

Sid didn’t look weirded out. He was gazing up at Zhenya with wide, dark eyes. “You liked that?”

“Yes,” Zhenya said, because apparently he did. Sid wrapped his fingers in Zhenya’s hair and _pulled_ , and Zhenya moaned again and rubbed his dick on Sid’s thigh. His face was hot, that hot frantic feeling of being right on the edge.

It was going to happen, he realized, as Sid kissed him and pulled his hair, a little harder with each noise Zhenya made. He was going to come like this, writhing on top of Sid, both of them still fully dressed, and he couldn’t stop it. He tucked his face against Sid’s neck and desperately rolled his hips, feeling his body tighten further with each tug of Sid’s hands.

“Come on, do it,” Sid whispered to him, and Zhenya groaned and bit his neck a little and came hot and messy in his pants.

Humiliation rolled in as his orgasm ebbed. Did that even count as sex? Sid was going to laugh at him—

But Sid said, “Oh my God,” sounding breathless and thrilled, and kissed Zhenya’s burning face. He worked one hand down the front of Zhenya’s sweatpants to feel the gooey softening mess of Zhenya’s cock. His other hand tightened in Zhenya’s hair. “Can you go again?”

“Okay,” Zhenya said, and tingled all the way down to the soles of his feet as Sid took a fistful of his hair by the roots and pulled.


	6. Day 12: costume, vampires [690 words]

Zhenya loved Halloween. What a stupid holiday: the flimsiest possible excuse to dress in a costume and drink to excess. It was even more fun now that he got to raid Sid’s closet for costumes. Old age had turned Sid into kind of a hoarder, and he had three centuries of nostalgia in his walk-in closet, ripe for the picking.

“No,” Sid said, without looking up from his phone, when Zhenya came out of the closet wearing an honest-to-God top hat made out of what might have been beaver fur.

“It’s cute,” Zhenya said, examining his reflection in the mirror.

“No,” Sid said again.

Fine. Zhenya didn’t really like hats anyway, unless they had a cute animal on them.

He went deeper. Sid had a heavy silk cloak that swirled pleasingly when Zhenya tried it on, and a shirt with a huge frilly collar and puffed sleeves. Zhenya felt extremely fancy. He would acquire a pair of fake teeth and tell everyone he was dressed as a vampire. As a bonus, it would annoy Sid, and sometimes Zhenya could provoke Sid into feeding from him in public if he was able to hit the right combination of adorable and obnoxious. 

He emerged from the closet and posed. Sid still didn’t look up. “No.” But his mouth was twitching, the jerk.

“I see you,” Zhenya said. “Look, I’m vampire.” He drew the cloak up over his mouth and tried to look mysterious.

“I was hoping for one of those little maid outfits,” Sid said. “Your ass would look amazing.” He finally set his phone aside and climbed off the bed, and came over to where Zhenya was standing. He tugged the cloak out of the way and reached up to touch Zhenya’s collar. “You know, these shirts used to be considered an invitation.”

The sly note in his voice caught Zhenya’s attention. Sid was weird about invitations; maybe all vampires were. Sid wouldn’t even come in Zhenya unless Zhenya specifically invited him to.

“Invite how?” Zhenya asked.

“You know,” Sid said. His fingers unfastened the button and spread the collar opened. Zhenya swallowed as Sid’s fingertips trailed down his throat, brushing over his pulse. “Easy access, eh? You can take someone into a back room for a quick feed. And go back to the party before anyone notices you’re missing.”

“You do with me,” Zhenya said, his mouth dry. “At team party. We go in back—”

“You always want me to feed from you,” Sid accused. His hand was still at Zhenya’s throat, and his eyes were there, too, watching the excited flutter of Zhenya’s pulse.

“So?” Zhenya said. He did, and he wasn’t embarrassed. Sid was so annoying, the way he fretted over it. Like the small quantities he took would ever do Zhenya any harm. Zhenya was lucky if he could talk Sid into it even once a week.

He thought he could talk Sid into it now. He tipped his head to one side, baring his throat. Sid’s gaze sharpened. He licked his upper lip the way he did when his fangs were ready to drop, pulling his lip into his mouth over the edge of his teeth.

Zhenya stepped in closer, pressing the length of his body against Sid’s. Sid was the perfect height to drink from him in this position, and Zhenya took shameless advantage at every opportunity. He knew he was close enough that Sid could smell the blood beneath his skin. He closed his hands on Sid’s hips, holding him in place.

“Show me,” Zhenya whispered, and Sid obediently opened his mouth to show Zhenya the delicate pointed tips of his fangs.

“I shouldn’t,” Sid said. He pressed a wet kiss to Zhenya’s neck, making him shiver. “I fed from you—”

“Five days ago, and it’s not much,” Zhenya said. He cupped his hand around the back of Sid’s head to hold him in place. Sid’s fangs scraped gently across his skin. Zhenya was going to die if Sid didn’t bite him. “Sid, come on—”

“The shirt looks really good on you,” Sid murmured, and Zhenya moaned as he bit down.


	7. Day 21: food play [597 words]

It’s messy, was Zhenya’s first excuse; and then he said they were supposed to be cutting sugar from their diets, which at least earned him Sid’s wet-cat face of total disbelief; and finally he had to admit that he thought it was a silly thing that nobody actually did, just one of those things people joked about, like crotchless panties or furry handcuffs. “It’s not, like, sexy,” he said. “What, you lick, it’s sweet? So what?”

“Oh,” Sid said. He looked down at the canister in his hand, because of course he had already bought the whipped cream; Sid liked to plan. “Well, I thought… but it’s fine. We don’t have to.”

Zhenya immediately felt like the world’s biggest asshole, watching Sid’s hopeful expression fade. Would it really hurt him to let Sid lick whipped cream off his nipples? What was wrong with him that he hadn’t just taken off his shirt and told Sid to take aim?

“No, let’s do,” he said. He kissed Sid’s downturned face until Sid was smiling again, and then he took the whipped cream from Sid’s hand and said, “I think you let me do.”

“To yourself?” Sid said, and Zhenya rolled his eyes and started nudging Sid toward the stairs.

It didn’t seem like such a dumb idea when he had Sid naked and spread out on the bed. Zhenya sat on Sid’s hips and tried to decide where to start. He touched Sid’s mouth and waited for Sid to open for his fingers, and hooked his thumb behind Sid’s teeth to draw his jaw open. “Open, stay,” he said, and brought the canister to Sid’s mouth to squirt a generous dollop right on his waiting tongue.

Sid started laughing. He closed his mouth and moved his jaw around a few times, letting the cream dissolve. Zhenya, watching him, felt his own mouth stretching into a goofy smile. Sid was cute like this, grinning up at him with his eyes sparkling. He was cute all the time.

“Cute,” Zhenya said, because he might as well say it. He squeezed some whipped cream onto his first two fingers and fed it to Sid, who sucked eagerly, his eyes closing. Maybe Zhenya could see the appeal.

He drew out his fingers, wet with Sid’s spit, and reloaded. “You want?” he asked, rubbing the clean tips along Sid’s bottom lip. He could feel Sid’s dick getting hard, pressed up against Zhenya’s ass. He wiggled his hips to get into a better position. This was seeming less and less like a joke.

“Yeah, give it to me,” Sid said, with the same throaty voice he used to ask Zhenya to fuck him, and Zhenya pushed his fingers deep and watched Sid’s red wet mouth close around his knuckles.

“Look good,” Zhenya said, hearing the telltale rasp in his own voice.

Sid’s eyebrows lifted, smug. He curled his fingers around Zhenya’s wrist, holding him in place as he sucked every trace of cream from Zhenya’s fingers.

Zhenya let him keep going as long as he wanted. When Sid released him, Zhenya sat back and considered his options. Sid’s nipples were the obvious choice, and why not start with a classic? Zhenya squirted out two dollops of cream and bent to taste the first one. It was sweet and melted away on his tongue, and then there was Sid’s nipple, tightening as he licked at it.

Sid’s hands slid into his hair. “Do the other one.”

“No, be patient,” Zhenya said, and added more whipped cream to Sid’s bare wet nipple. He wasn’t done here yet.


	8. Day 22: cuckolding, threesome (S/G/A) [783 words]

“You’ll sit in the chair,” Anya said, when they were still only talking about it; when it was still only a fantasy, before Sid started coming over for dinner more and it entered the realm of possibility. “And you can’t do anything, you have to watch.”

“Does he make you feel good?” Zhenya asked, because back then they didn’t have any evidence and could only speculate.

“Of course he does,” Anya said. “He’s better at it than you are,” and Zhenya squirmed beneath her, humiliated and thrilled.

When it finally happened, after months of Anya going over to Sid’s and coming home sly and satisfied in a pair of Sid’s sweatpants, and Sid flushing every time he met Zhenya’s eyes in the locker room until he started smirking instead, Zhenya thought his excitement and nerves might do him in before they even got to the main event. He went to the grocery store, where he roamed mindlessly through the freezer section and purchased nothing, and then he drove around the city for a while, listening to the radio until it was time.

At the appointed hour, he went home. Sid’s car was in the driveway. Zhenya’s heart beat an ecstatic rhythm as he went up the stairs to the bedroom—to his and Anya’s bedroom, where Anya and Sid would be waiting for him.

He heard Anya laughing as he went down the hall, and walked a little faster.

They were naked in bed with Anya on top, lying on top of Sid, propped up on her elbows as she smiled down at him. She didn’t look over as Zhenya came in, but Sid did. His eyes were so dark. Zhenya’s dick pressed uncomfortably against his fly. He had jerked off in the shower that morning, but it had barely taken the edge off. He had pictured this so many times, and now it was real: his wife, and Sid. The curve of Anya’s ass, and Sid’s big hand cupping the underside.

“Zhenya, sit in the chair,” Anya said, without looking away from Sid. “We’re busy, and you’re being distracting.”

“Jesus,” Sid said, laughing a little, even though Anya had spoken in Russian. Her tone didn’t need translating.

Zhenya sat in the armchair in the corner, which was usually covered in clothes. Anya had cleared it off to make a space for him. His heart was racing. He wanted to fuck Sid and they all knew it, and Sid watched him as Anya shifted on top of him, his hands sliding down her back and his eyes on Zhenya’s face.

Anya sat up, her hair loose over her shoulders. She turned to give Zhenya a smile and curled one hand in the shape of half of a heart, her knuckles pressed to her mouth: checking in. He returned the gesture, affection overwhelming his arousal for a moment. Not a day went by that he wasn’t glad he had married her.

She ducked to whisper something in Sid’s ear, and Sid laughed again, his hands loosely clasping her hips. Seeing their easy intimacy made Zhenya’s belly clench with a delirious combination of at least ten different emotions. He cupped his dick through his pants and squeezed. God, _God_ , they were doing this for real; he could hardly believe it, but his dick wasn’t uncertain at all.

Anya and Sid shifted around on the bed until they were lying diagonally with Sid on top. Zhenya watched as they kissed, Anya turning her head to one side to let Sid get at her neck. Then Sid sat up, and Zhenya could see everything: his big body, his hard dick. He glanced quickly at Zhenya and then focused his attention back on Anya. His hand moved between her legs, and she arched her back and sighed.

“You want it?” Sid said, and then, with another quick glance at Zhenya, “because Geno can’t, uh.”

Zhenya’s face flamed, waiting for it, and then Anya said, “Yeah, his dick is too small, it’s not satisfy.”

“That’s why you need me,” Sid said, his voice rising at the end, like a question. His hand worked steadily, fucking his fingers into Anya, and Zhenya knew what she felt like, how she clung to him, warm and wet. Sid moved his head in a short aborted gesture, like he had started looking over at Zhenya again and stopped himself.

“Yeah,” Anya said. She turned her head to the side to smirk at Zhenya. Sid was fumbling around with it, but Anya knew exactly what she was doing. “He can’t make me come, so I need your fat dick, you make me feel so good.”

Zhenya groaned and gave in and unzipped his pants.


	9. Day 23: scars, vampires [2057 words]

Sid didn’t have a clue what Geno got up to over the summer. He was never much of a presence in the group chat, but after locker cleanout he disappeared completely aside from a few random selfies and the occasional tonally inappropriate emoji, like sending a chicken when Tanger messaged that Cath had finally had the baby. Maybe it was an inside joke. But aside from that, Sid never expected to hear much from him until training camp.

This year, Geno rolled into training camp with a huge bite mark on his neck: two pink fang slices, still scarring over. He wasn’t trying to hide it at all. If anything, the V-neck of his T-shirt made it even more obvious. Someone had bitten him, repeatedly, and he had let them. Sid knew he was staring way too obviously but couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“Nice scars, G,” Phil said, and that got all of them going, really raw NC-17 commentary that Sid tried not to listen to, while Geno sat at his stall and smirked.

“You all jealous,” Geno said, when he could get a word in edgewise. “Vampire don’t want to bite you, so sad—”

“Excuse me, I’m _delicious_ ,” Rusty said, which set everyone off again.

A couple of the guys glanced at Sid and away. He didn’t feed from anyone on the team and never had.

Geno was so fucking smug when he got like this: dropping coy tidbits and then refusing to answer questions, shrugging dramatically when Horny asked him if it hurt. Sid wanted to throttle him. He said, cutting through the noise, “Who was it?”

The locker room quieted, everyone waiting for Geno’s answer. Geno grinned wider and leaned back, slouching down, his legs spread wide: totally casual. “Radulov,” he said, which infuriated Sid even further: the guy didn’t even have any real teeth.

“It doesn’t hurt?” Horny asked again. He gave Geno’s neck a skeptical look. “I think that hurts.”

“No, it’s not hurt,” Geno insisted. “You guys don’t know. You jealous. It’s like someone suck your dick, like, you just enjoy.”

He was so fucking smug. Sid took a few calming breaths and focused on picking at a knot in his skate laces. He didn’t want to think about Geno spread out on Radulov’s couch, lax with pleasure, while Radulov drank from him. It wasn’t any of his business.

“You let Radulov suck your dick?” Guentzy said incredulously.

Geno rolled his eyes and tipped his head back, baring the scars on his throat. They looked shiny and tender, half-healed. “No, suck my blood. But I get off.” He grinned. “He say I taste good,” and Sid had to leave the room then because his fangs were dropping.

He didn’t drink from anyone on the team, and especially not from Geno. The more he wanted it, the worse of an idea it was. But he couldn’t stop staring at Geno’s scars every time they were together, watching the pink fade as the season started, the skin going pale and slightly raised. Sid wanted to bite him right there, to slide his own fangs into Geno’s throat and write over Radulov’s mark with his own.

He got too drunk on their first roadie, while they were in Banff. A bunch of them went to the hotel bar after they came back from dinner. Sid hadn’t fed in a few days and his blood volume was down, and he had a few Jack and Cokes without thinking about it, and didn’t realize he’d fucked up until he went to take a leak and the room spun. When he came back, everyone had slid down in the booth, and the only open space was right beside Geno.

He couldn’t sit elsewhere without making a scene. He sat.

“Hi, Sid,” Geno said. His arm was immediately stretched along the top of the bench behind Sid’s head. His neck was right there, the silvery-white scars and the blood pulsing beneath them. Sid caught himself leaning in. Drunk and hungry was a bad combination.

Geno cupped his hand around Sid’s shoulder before Sid could lean away. “I see you look,” he said. He brought his other hand to his throat, to stroke his scars. His eyes were dark and watchful on Sid’s face. “You hungry. When you eat last?”

“It’s. I’m fine,” Sid said. This close, he could feel the warmth of Geno’s body. What would he taste like? He would enjoy it; he was used to being fed from. He wouldn’t be scared, and so Sid could enjoy it, too. His gaze dropped again to Geno’s throat. He needed to go somewhere else, find anyone else—anyone who wasn’t Geno.

“Sid,” Geno said. He shifted around to take his wallet from his pocket. He offered Sid a credit card—no: his room key. “Go upstairs. I come in ten minutes. Okay?”

“We can’t,” Sid said. He was already zeroing in on Geno’s heartbeat, the first stirrings of the link that would join them while Sid fed.

Not that he was going to. But _if_.

Geno was still holding out his room key, his eyebrows raised: impatient that Sid wasn’t following orders. He didn’t just like to get his way, he expected it, and Sid had kind of bought into Geno’s version of reality after dealing with him for so long. Geno always thought he knew best and always thought he was right, and it made Sid nuts.

His hand reached out and took the key.

Geno’s expression settled into smug satisfaction. “Room 814,” he said. “Ten minutes.”

Sid went upstairs, because what else could he do? Surely he had options aside from doing exactly what Geno wanted, but right now he couldn’t think of what they were.

Geno’s hotel room was, as always, a disaster. Sid shoved a pile of clothes onto the floor and sat on the end of the bed. His head was really swimming. He got up and took a water bottle from the mini fridge and chugged the whole thing. It didn’t help much. He needed blood. He really needed to leave before Geno showed up. He could go down to the lobby and just sit there and flash his fangs and wait for someone to approach him. That strategy had worked for him many times.

Someone knocked on the door.

For a wild moment, Sid considered not letting Geno into his own hotel room. But that was ridiculous. He got up and opened the door.

Geno looked warm and delicious in his sweater. Most people tasted fine, and some people tasted bad, if they were sick or had a shitty diet, and some people tasted amazing, for reasons Sid had never been able to figure out; and Geno looked like he would taste the best, better than anyone else Sid had ever fed from. His heart was beating faster than could be explained by his trip upstairs in the elevator. Sid could hear it. He stepped in and pressed his face to Geno’s throat, his lips brushing Geno’s scars. His mouth watered as his fangs began to drop.

Geno’s hands cupped his head. “Take shoes off,” Geno said quietly. “Lie in bed. It’s more comfy.”

Sid wanted to bite him right there and suck until Geno moaned. Pulling away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “Okay,” he said thickly. His fangs were out now, and they made it kind of hard to talk.

Geno disappeared into the washroom. Sid took off his shoes, and dithered for a moment over whether he should take off his jeans. But they were about to do something that Geno had described as being comparable to getting his dick sucked, so he probably wouldn’t be too scandalized by Sid’s underwear. Then he climbed in bed and thought about Geno lying down beside him, turning so that their bodies curled into each other, touching the scars on his neck to show Sid just where to bite him. It was going to happen.

But Geno came out of the bathroom wearing sweatpants and his glasses, looking like he was ready for bed, and he lay down beside Sid with his phone in one hand and opened up Instagram. “Bite when you ready,” he said, eyes on his phone, liking a picture of someone’s cat.

“I thought this was gonna be a sex thing,” Sid said, like the drunken dumbass he was. He never got any smarter, just older.

Geno lowered his phone and turned his head to give Sid one of his inscrutable Geno looks. “You want it’s a sex thing?”

“You do it with Radulov,” Sid said.

Geno watched him for a moment. Then he took off his glasses and set them on the bedside table along with his phone. He turned onto his side, just like Sid had imagined, and scooted closer. He touched Sid’s face and the sharp point of one of his fangs. Sid’s heart beat a slow sluggish pump, fueled by old blood. Geno’s expression didn’t look like a sex thing. He leaned in and carefully pressed his mouth to Sid’s.

“Bite me,” Geno whispered when they drew apart.

“Let me see your scars,” Sid said.

Geno turned onto his back, and there they were, the two small parallel marks. Sid curled against his side, tucked in the crook of Geno’s arm, and pressed the tips of his fangs to Geno’s neck, planning his bite. Radulov’s teeth were set a little narrower than his own. It wouldn’t be a perfect match, but he would do his best.

Geno wasn’t looking at his phone now. His breath came faster as Sid licked at his scars, numbing the skin for his bite. Sid’s heart got going and slowly got up to speed, matching Geno’s beat for beat. He was starting to feel Geno’s emotions a little: anticipation, relief.

“Sid,” Geno said, and Sid bit.

He fed from Geno in tiny sips, letting his mouth fill with blood and then gently pushing his tongue against the cuts while he savored and swallowed. Geno slowly stroked his hand through Sid’s hair, making Sid’s scalp prickle. His drunkenness faded as Geno’s sweet rich blood worked through his body. He could feel Geno’s lazy pleasure, almost exactly the feeling of lying back and getting a slow, sloppy blowjob. He always loved the closeness of feeding, but doing it with someone he knew so well was a totally new experience—learning the texture of Geno’s emotions, the huge underlying fondness that Sid hadn’t anticipated at all.

“Stupid,” Geno said, full of incredulity that Sid hadn’t known, and Sid moved his tongue to take another mouthful, flooded with blood and love.

He listened carefully to Geno’s heartbeat. When it slowed the slightest fraction of a second, Sid drew back and licked at the cuts until they clotted. He would need to bite Geno again, slightly to the left, before he totally erased Radulov’s mark. But he was pleased with the progress he’d made.

Geno turned toward him again, languid, draping one arm over Sid’s shoulders and pushing his erection into Sid’s hip. He murmured something in Russian and kissed Sid’s neck, biting a little, like it was his turn to feed. Sid felt sharp and alert and hot with blood, and Geno’s sleepy slowness made him want to hold Geno down and blow him for real, and find out how many different noises he could get Geno to make.

“You feel okay?” he asked. He kissed Geno’s mouth and slid his hand inside Geno’s sweats, curling around Geno’s hard dick. The link hadn’t broken yet, and he could feel how good his hand was, how badly Geno wanted to come, how happy he was to be doing this with Sid—not with Radulov, not with any other vampire, and then Geno caught him tracing that feeling to its root and shoved it all abruptly in his face: yes, you, Sid, _finally_.

“Don’t drink from someone else,” Geno said aloud, while Sid was still reeling. “Only me.”

“Geno,” Sid said helplessly, totally unable to put into words what was in his heart. But he knew Geno could feel it.

“Yes,” Geno said, not smug or bossy at all, nothing but sweet and earnest and tender as he leaned in and kissed the last traces of blood from Sid’s mouth.


	10. Day 25: tickling [740 words]

Sid was notoriously ticklish. It was a bad trait for a hockey player, because everyone took ruthless advantage. Sid turned pink every time and squirmed and giggled and generally made Zhenya think of the Pillsbury Doughboy. You couldn’t even put a hand on Sid’s waist to let him know you were passing behind him without him yelping and giggling and blushing happily. Zhenya hated it, because he couldn’t help imagining Sid looking that pleased and pliant in bed, squirming around as Zhenya laid a trail of teasing kisses along his ribcage.

When they finally started sleeping together, it didn’t take him long to realize that Sid was anything but pliant. He giggled and turned pink and fucked Zhenya through the mattress with such devastating precision that Zhenya could only moan at the ceiling and let it happen. He spent the first month in a sex fugue like he hadn’t experienced since his very first girlfriend, back when sex was brand-new and thrilling.

It was pretty new and thrilling with Sid. But enough was enough: Zhenya wasn’t going to spend his entire relationship with Sid starfishing and losing several thousand brain cells with each orgasm. He dug the handcuffs out of his box of sex toys and made cute faces until Sid agreed to give it a shot, and then he had Sid naked and spread out with his arms cuffed above his head and didn’t know where to start.

“Hey,” Sid said, smiling up at him. “Kiss me,” and so Zhenya kissed his mouth and his throat and the soft dip between his collarbones, and each of his nipples in turn, and then he did what he’d thought of so long ago and kissed the lowest of Sid’s ribs, the funny little bump it made where it flared out above his waist.

Sid squealed, twisted, and came close to kneeing Zhenya in the balls.

“Sorry!” Sid said, when Zhenya sat up to glare at him. “Sorry, I’m just—really ticklish.”

As if Zhenya had somehow missed that. He sat firmly on Sid’s hips to avoid any further incidents. Everything between Sid’s nipples and his pelvis was in the danger zone, but Zhenya hadn’t expected a little bit of kissing to provoke a reaction that extreme. He cautiously thumbed Sid’s nipples. “I can’t touch?”

“No, you can, it’s not. It tickles, but it’s. I don’t mind,” Sid said. His cheeks were flushed a hot bright red. His eyes met Zhenya’s and then darted away.

Zhenya squinted suspiciously. Sid had thus far shown no signs of being embarrassed about anything they did in bed, not even the things that Zhenya was a little embarrassed about, like how Sid always wanted to eat his ass right after practice when Zhenya was still sweaty. He settled his full weight on Sid and deliberately dragged his fingertips down Sid’s torso, from his shoulders to his navel.

Sid’s reaction was immediate and delicious. He thrashed under Zhenya’s weight, pinned to the mattress, and made a shocked high-pitched sound. His feet kicked out fruitlessly. Zhenya rotated his wrists and dragged his hands back up toward Sid’s shoulders, using the backs of his nails this time, too light to even leave a mark, and Sid was really fighting now, face bright red, his wrists pulling in the cuffs.

“I stop?” Zhenya asked. He could feel Sid’s erection against his ass; he didn’t think Sid wanted him to stop. He lifted onto his knees and repositioned so he could grind down and feel Sid leaking over his perineum and the back of his balls.

Sid looked up at him, his mouth hanging open. He planted his feet on the bed and pushed up against Zhenya’s weight. “No, it’s. You can keep going.”

That was all the permission Zhenya needed. He set his hands at Sid’s waist, right at the most tender sensitive skin along his sides, and tickled him in earnest while Sid laughed and swore at him and banged the headboard against the wall with the force of his struggles. When Zhenya finally stopped, Sid’s chest and shoulders were flushed pink to match his face, and Zhenya’s entire taint was smeared with pre-come.

“Keep going?” Zhenya asked, his palms at Sid’s waist, only holding him now.

“I mean. I’ll probably come,” Sid said, like that was any kind of deterrent. Zhenya slid his hands up toward Sid’s ribs, light and teasing, and grinned in delight as Sid moaned.


	11. Day 26: lactation, pregnancy (S/G/A) [998 words]

Anya’s milk came in about a month before her due date, just like it had the first time. Sid was downstairs making breakfast before practice, and so Zhenya was the sole witness to Anya standing in front of the mirror with her robe open, frowning as she prodded her breasts.

“What’s wrong?” Zhenya asked, still not totally awake.

“I’m leaking,” Anya said plaintively, and Zhenya dragged himself out of bed then to take a look. Anya showed him her fingertips, the small drop of yellowish fluid there. Not her real milk yet, but the stuff that came before. Zhenya had known the term at one time but forgotten it in the years since Nikita’s birth. He would have to look it up again.

“What a mess,” Anya said. “Well, I’ll have to dig out the breast pads.”

“Sid will be happy, though,” Zhenya said, and held Anya’s gaze in the mirror as he ducked to kiss her neck. “You remember how he was.”

“Oh, God,” Anya said on a sigh. She sighed again as Zhenya cupped her heavy breasts. Her nipples were damp, and as he stroked his thumbs over them, another slow drop leaked out. “He’ll make my milk come in for real.”

He would certainly try. Zhenya casually mentioned it on the way to practice: “Anya is have milk now, you know, a little bit,” and Sid glanced over at him before he directed his eyes back to the road and said, equally casually, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

After that he was on Anya’s tits all the time, sucking on her during sex and idly stroking her nipples as they lay in bed with phones and books after Nikita was asleep. She never pushed him away or seemed to get tired of it. Once, Zhenya slid a hand inside her panties while Sid was sucking on her and she was scrolling through Instagram, to all appearances totally disinterested in what Sid was doing, and found her all hot and wet and swollen. Sid glanced up and met Zhenya’s eyes and smirked, his lips pressed to Anya’s nipple.

It took a few days, but Sid got what he wanted. Anya’s breasts filled, warm and tender to the touch, and she began leaking a thinner, paler fluid. She greeted them at the door one afternoon when they got home from practice, her face drawn with discomfort, and said, “Sid, I need—it’s hurt a little.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Sid said at once.

Zhenya fixed a plate of finger foods and checked on Nikita, peacefully napping, before he joined them. Sid was still fully dressed aside from his shoes, but he had stripped Anya bare, and Zhenya watched from the doorway for a moment: Sid curled against Anya’s side, his hand stroking the big round curve of her belly, his thick mouth open around her nipple as he nursed.

“Come here, I need you,” Anya said, reaching for Zhenya.

Sid pulled away long enough for them to reposition. He was already a mess, his mouth wet with milk, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his hard dick an obvious bulge in his sweatpants. He would want to fuck after Anya was empty, urgent as a schoolboy.

“Taste good?” Zhenya asked, just to watch Sid lick his lips and nod.

Zhenya settled against the pillows and drew Anya into his arms, her back to his chest. She was warm and she smelled good, like warm skin and milk. Zhenya buried his face in her hair, overwhelmed by love, the safe solid peacefulness of family. Sid moved to Anya’s other breast and settled in and groaned quietly to himself as his mouth worked. He looked so serious, his eyes closed and his eyebrows drawn together. A few drops of milk overflowed and spilled down his cheek. Zhenya reached to wipe them away.

Anya turned her face into Zhenya’s neck. “Baby’s moving,” she murmured, and Zhenya stroked his hand over her belly until he felt it, too: the small foot or hand protruding, Sid’s baby who would be Zhenya’s, too. A daughter and sister for all of them to love.

“Fat baby,” Anya said in English. “I need lots of milk so she’s not hungry.”

Sid didn’t reply, but his eyelashes fluttered as he sucked.

Zhenya slid his hand down the warm underside of Anya’s belly and between her legs. She was so wet that there was a damp spot on the sheets. He smiled against her hair as he circled his fingers around her clit. She and Sid were both so weird, and Zhenya would never really understand it, but he didn’t mind the side effects.

“You think I can make you come before he’s finished with you?” he whispered to her. She shivered and clutched at his wrist to move his hand where she wanted it. Zhenya obediently pressed his two middle fingers into her cunt. She shifted against him and sighed, and he adjusted his hand so she could grind against his palm, pushing her clit against the ball of his thumb. 

Sid pulled off and lapped at the milk still flowing from Anya’s nipple. She clenched around Zhenya’s fingers with each pass of Sid’s tongue. “Almost done,” Sid said, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the full underside of Anya’s breast.

She slid a hand into his hair. “Don’t stop,” she said, and tugged him back into place. Zhenya saw his eyes close and his lips part, and Anya arched her back to push her nipple into his mouth. “Zhenya,” she whimpered, her hips working desperately.

He kissed her ear and her hot cheek and curled his fingers inside her. He would suck on her when Sid was finished, when there was no milk left and she was sore and sensitive. Maybe while Sid rutted between her thighs. And then he would slide down the bed and clean her up with his tongue. 

“Zhenya!” Anya said again, arching against him, and she trembled in his arms as she came.


	12. Day 27: exhibitionism/voyeurism [1409 words]

“Maybe I go to banya,” Geno said, when they were done with lunch and standing outside on the sidewalk, idly contemplating dessert. Or at least that was what Sid was doing.

“That’s like a sauna, right?” Sid said. He knew it wasn’t exactly the same thing, but Geno always made a hilarious face like someone had told him his dick wasn’t actually all that impressive.

Sure enough, Geno’s mouth pursed and his eyebrows pulled together. “It’s not—okay, fine. No, it’s close, so maybe I go now, you go back to hotel. Okay?”

“I could go with you,” Sid said. Geno always liked to go to the banya when they were in New York, and Sid had always been kind of curious about it. He had tried the sauna at the rink a few times and hated it: too sweaty. But he’d heard all of Geno’s rants about how the Russian banya was vastly superior to the sauna in every way, and he wanted to see what the big deal was.

Geno’s expression became even more pained. “Maybe, uh—I don’t think you like.”

“Why not?” Sid asked. “Good to sweat out the toxins, eh?” He didn’t know what the fuck that meant.

Geno stared at him for a few moments, and then heaved a huge sigh, like Sid was making his life super difficult. “Let’s get taxi.”

Sid still didn’t know New York that well, even after years of away games and NHLPA meetings. Fine: he had a terrible sense of direction. They sat in the cab for about ten minutes, while Geno pecked aggressively at his phone, and then they got out somewhere, on some random street that looked like every other street in New York, complete with trash bags piled on the curb and a taxi honking at a UPS truck that was parked illegally. Geno seemed to know where he was going, though. He led Sid to a nondescript entrance marked with nothing more than a number, and they went inside and up a stairwell that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a while. Sid tried to keep an open mind, but it was kind of gross.

“Here,” Geno said, and they went through a door and into a small lobby that made Sid think of a spaceship: everything white except for the lighting, which was pale purple. A woman sitting behind the front desk smiled and greeted them in English, and Geno carried out some transaction with her that Sid didn’t pay much attention to. He was busy inspecting the art on the walls, which was so heavily stylized that it took him a couple of minutes to realize it was depicting people fucking. Men, specifically. Dudes with big dicks that they were using to fuck each other with.

You sure didn’t see that kind of thing in Pittsburgh.

“Okay, let’s go,” Geno said, with one hand on Sid’s shoulder, and they went through another door and down a short hallway, and into a locker room. A few old guys were sitting around talking, and there was a guy talking on the phone totally naked whose six-pack put Horny’s to shame, but otherwise the place was pretty empty. Geno handed Sid a fluffy white towel and a pair of slides and said, “Get undress.”

He didn’t look as Geno took off his pants. He’d had years to learn not to look.

“Ready?” Geno asked, naked except for his slides, and Sid followed as Geno shuffled down the hall, trying to look at anything but the perfect milk-white jiggle of Geno’s ass.

The room they went into looked exactly like a sauna: tiered wooden benches and dim mood lighting. Only here, the mood lighting was purple. It was hot like a sauna, too. Two men in the corner, sitting very close together, looked over as Sid and Geno came in, and then went back to what they were doing, which was—okay, giving each other handjobs, apparently.

Sid probably should have figured out way sooner exactly which type of bathhouse this was.

He pretended not to notice, and spread his towel out on the bench and sat down. “So,” he said to Geno, who was fussily arranging his towel on the bench catty-corner to Sid, “what now? I’ve never done this whole Russian banya thing before.”

Geno sat down and spread out. His balls looked cozy, nestled in the terrycloth. His face was flushed, but maybe that was the heat, or the weird lighting. “You sit. Relax. It’s nice.” He reached down to readjust his balls, and his hand lingered there, toying with his sack. His gaze darted over Sid’s body.

He was such a piece of shit. He had brought Sid here on purpose, and Sid was going to make him pay for it. He leaned back against the bench behind him and sighed, letting his lips part. “It’s warm. Feels nice.”

“Hmm,” Geno said. He looked Sid over again, slower, more deliberate this time. His hand cupped his soft dick, just holding it. “What you think about Rangers power play?”

Sid glanced at the guys in the corner. One of them had his head thrown back, resting on the bench behind him, his hips working frantically into the other guy’s grip. They weren’t paying any attention. Sid said, “I think they’re gonna eat you for breakfast,” which wasn’t true at all, but made Geno scoff and glare, which was its own reward.

“They don’t _eat_ ,” Geno said, and Sid settled in for an extremely gratifying hockey chat. Geno got so worked up, like he always did, gesturing with one hand and playing with his dick with the other, kind of flopping his semi around as he argued about Kreider’s shot. Sid let his own hand move along the crease of his hip until he was teasing his fingertips along his shaft, feeling himself plump and swell in response. Geno was looking, his gaze going again and again to Sid’s crotch.

“Am I doing this right?” Sid asked, curling his fingers around his dick and moving his wrist in a blatant jack-off movement. “This is how you do it in the banya, eh?”

“This—yes,” Geno said, the goddamn liar. His semi was progressing pretty rapidly to a full-on erection. “It’s warm, feel good, get relax, you know?”

“Yeah, I feel pretty relaxed,” Sid said. He wiggled a little on his towel and let his low-key arousal kick up a notch, his cock thickening in his grasp. “It’s okay, right? That I’m—you know.”

Geno licked his lips. “Yes, it’s—very tradition. Like, good for banya. You so relax.”

He was such a fucking liar. Sid stroked himself to full hardness. “You’re sure it’s okay?”

“Yes, it’s good, just like Russian,” Geno said. He was looking at Sid’s dick and lazily jacking his own—God, huge—erection. “Or maybe, uh.” He licked his lips again. “You need help?”

There it was. Sid widened his eyes, trying to look as innocent and naïve as possible. “Yeah, I mean. That might be good, eh? Since it’s my first time and everything.”

Geno’s lips parted. God, his mouth was so—Sid could imagine it opening around his dick, or pressing lush kisses to his asshole. “Okay, let me help,” Geno said, and Sid was so busy watching Geno’s enormous hand on his dick that he almost missed Geno standing up and folding his towel in half and then in half again, making a cushion for himself to—oh, God, drop on the floor at Sid’s feet before he went to his knees.

“This is traditional?” Sid asked, hearing the breathless anticipation in his voice and not caring at all. He cupped Geno’s jaw and stroked his thumb over Geno’s fat wet mouth. “You gonna suck my cock, huh?”

In the corner, the two guys were watching them openly. Sid didn’t mind. He kind of liked it. He took his dick in hand and rubbed the head against Geno’s bottom lip. “You look so good like this,” he said, even more breathless, because Geno really _did_ , he looked fantastic, kneeling there between Sid’s thighs, his hair curling in the heat, his face and chest flushed, his nipples hard, his dick hard and wet. Like a fucking wet dream.

Geno’s hands cupped Sid’s knees. Holding Sid’s gaze, he opened his mouth wide, and Sid flexed his hips to rub the head of his dick against Geno’s waiting tongue.


	13. Day 30: gagging, tentacles (S/G/A) [739 words]

“You gotta—a little wider, G,” Sid said, and Zhenya obediently tipped his head back even further, his mouth opening in what looked to Anya like an uncomfortable stretch as Sid pushed into his throat. Sid’s hands cradled Zhenya’s jaw, thumbs stroking the corners of his mouth. He smiled down at Zhenya where his head was pillowed in Sid’s lap. She could see Sid’s outer tentacles petting Zhenya’s neck, and Zhenya’s eyelashes fluttered with each touch, as deep into it as he was now, pliant and sweet from the mild drugging effect. The neck was a good place for it, with his veins right there beneath the skin, pumping the venom through his body and helping him relax the way he needed to.

Anya’s body throbbed as she shifted closer, straddling Zhenya’s chest. Her inner tentacle drifted toward Zhenya’s mouth, and she held her breath as the tip brushed against his lips. Even that small touch made her ripple with sensation. Her outer tentacles curled happily against Zhenya’s chest, little sweet calming strokes. 

“It’s my turn,” she said, watching Sid slide lazily in and out of Zhenya’s mouth, too shallow to be more than a tease for either of them. Sid could play around like that at any time, but Zhenya needed venom for what Anya wanted, and they couldn’t do it much during the season because he would be giggly and useless for the next two days. Her sweet dopey husband, dozing on the couch and demanding cuddles from whoever went to check on him.

“I get him when you’re done,” Sid said. He drew his inner tentacle from Zhenya’s mouth, and Zhenya lifted his head to chase after it, holding his mouth open, wanting to be filled. “Shh, just a minute,” Sid told him, bending to kiss Zhenya’s forehead. “It’s Anna’s turn.”

“Anya,” Zhenya said. His eyelids slid open, and he smiled at her, God, the sweetest thing on earth, his eyes so dark with his pupils dilated. “I’m ready now, let me have it,” he said, his hands fumbling for her hips.

“Open,” Anya said, watching hungrily as he did. Her inner tentacle was firm with arousal, and it was so easy to push into his mouth. She rubbed the head against his soft tongue and then along the ridged firmness of the roof of his mouth, delighting in the different sensations. She was leaking so much. Zhenya sucked and swallowed; he insisted it tasted sweet to him, although Anya had never been able to detect any flavor.

Sid’s gazed was fixed on Zhenya’s mouth. His inner tentacle curled around the base of Zhenya’s neck. “Do it, I wanna watch.”

Anya took a breath pushed in further, past the resistance at the back of Zhenya’s throat. She felt him tighten, his eyes squeezing shut as he gagged around her, a pleasure she couldn’t get from anything else, that made her pant and shiver. She drew back to give him a moment, to let Sid’s hands and both of their outer tentacles soothe him. His hand brushed against her ass, and she turned her head to see him touching his hard cock, pressing it against his belly and rubbing it with the flat of his palm.

“He’s gonna come?” Sid asked. It always went like this, more or less. He usually came dry before they were done with him.

“Soon,” Anya said. She pushed in again, and Zhenya gagged violently, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. The pressure on the shaft of her tentacle was unbearably good, and she wanted to _fill_ him, to pour her come down his throat and watch his belly swell as she and Sid took turns with him. She held there for a moment before pulling all the way out, to rub the tip of her tentacle against his fat pink lips and watch him open his eyes and struggle to focus on her. 

“My sweet man, my darling,” she murmured, because he loved to hear it when he was like this, would flush pink and moan. She pushed back in, firm and deep, until he choked on her. This time she didn’t pull back; she slid even deeper, and Sid held him down with both hands on his shoulders as he thrashed. 

“There he goes,” Sid said, “that’s great, G, come on,” and Anya reached back with one hand in time to feel the hot spill of Zhenya’s come.


End file.
